


Petunia tidies up the loose ends

by feyandstrange



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, OCD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-18
Updated: 2013-11-18
Packaged: 2018-01-01 23:20:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1049777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feyandstrange/pseuds/feyandstrange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Petunia explains her childhood and relationship with Lily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Petunia tidies up the loose ends

I am Petunia Dursley, born Petunia Evans. Yes, I’m that woman’s sister. 

People think I hated my sister because she was a witch, but it wasn’t that. I resented her for being their favorite and for being just like them. It was our parents I really hated. 

I shall have to explain our parents before I go on much further. You will need to know what sort of persons they were if this is to make any sense. 

Our father and mother were both employed at the local cooperative university. I must assume they had degrees of some sort, although they were never mentioned. My father had written a philosophical novel, and he gave lectures occasionally when he remembered to attend them, and wrote, and had long stupid conversations about entirely theoretical subjects, or simply sat there and supposedly thought. Our mother dabbled in various forms of art and taught various other forms of art, most of them very avant-garde or peculiar. 

My parents were very artistic people, or so they claimed. They valued creativity and originality, and they saw no reason to behave properly or do something simply because the rest of society thought it was a good idea. They were hippies and artists and thought very little of convention or propriety or anything of the sort. 

I suppose that does not mean they might not have been good parents, but it is all of a piece with the rest of their behavior. Several of the conventions of society that they felt were unnecessary related to child-rearing and housekeeping. They thought children would thrive if left to “learn naturally”, which meant largely ignoring us. There was a plaque in our house that said “A clean desk is the sign of an empty mind.” It was the only thing in that house which I never desired to clean. My parents, you see, were filthy slobs who did not think we needed to keep the house tidy in the least. They were also very irresponsible people. I cannot count the number of times that the electricity or water were cut off because they did not pay the bill, for instance, and the only reason we had heat was that the house still had an old coal furnace and we would shove paper and wood into it. My father said this built character and we did not need modern conveniences. He was perfectly content to work by candlelight or daylight. 

I do not know how the house was paid for. It may have been provided by the university, or perhaps it belonged to our family somehow and so we did not have to pay very much for it. If there was a mortgage I never knew about it. All I know is that we were never evicted. Considering how proud my parents were of having lived out of a camper van when first married, it does surprise me a little. 

It was not much of a house. We lived in a wretched old neighborhood built for factory workers, but the old mill was mostly empty. I believe the university had art gallery showings there a few times, but it was usually cordoned off and considered unsafe. The factory houses were not exactly desirable and our few neighbors were either poor or immigrant or both, and some were squatters. Nobody cared about the neighborhood in the least, and so people would simply leave trash in the street or break into the abandoned buildings to steal things. On our side of the mill was slightly safer than the stuff closer to the mill and farther from town, but just knowing you lived there was enough to make all the people in town think poorly of you. I was teased at school for it. 

And it was very unhealthy, the neighborhood I mean. There was still a great deal of coal dust in the air and on every surface. I suspect that’s why I was so sickly there always, although the filth and dust in the house were also a factor. And the animals. My parents saw nothing wrong with letting animals roam free in the house as well. They claimed they were pets or that the cats would keep pests down, but I believe that a pet is an animal that someone cares for and pays attention to, not simply allows to live in the house. After our father kept a dog in the back garden I would never go there again because I was frightened of it. It bit me at least once when I was told to go out there for something, and I was terrified of it. But my parents only laughed at me. 

I was a somewhat sickly child. Our parents didn’t think much of that. They were the sort of people who think you can think yourself healthy, and being the sort of people who were never sick more than a few days in their lives, of course they thought that was reasonable. But it isn’t. I don’t think I ever saw a doctor, despite being ill frequently and constantly suffering from colds and allergies and things. If I complained I was whining or demanding attention. Is it so wrong to demand – or at least ask politely – for attention from one’s parents to one’s health? I have scars from where the dog bit me. I have a knot in my wrist where my arm was smashed in a fall, and another in my ankle from a broken staircase, and never once did I see a doctor. I’m sure Lily never did either, but Lily bounced back from her falls and scrapes and was never ill.

In addition to being very neglectful parents, they were also rather cruel ones. I cannot remember asking for anything and receiving it, and most of the time I was met with laughter and derision. Like the cats that roamed around the house, I was allowed to live there and expected to make myself useful, but had I wandered off one day they might not have ever missed me. 

I suspect the main reason I am alive at all is because Father and Mother – who I was supposed to address by their Christian names, although once Lily coined ‘Rosamum’ out of ‘Rosamund’ it was darling and clever of course – they often had students about. Many of their students were worse than useless, but some of them were kind to us, and I suspect that they received university credit for taking care of us children and trying to keep the house from being an absolute cesspit. Others simply took up residence in the back bedroom and smoked everywhere and were filthy creatures. 

I asked once if I had any grandparents. They looked shocked. “Of course you have grandparents! How stupid are you, Tuney? Everyone has grandparents,” they chided me. I asked why I’d never met them, and they said “Why do you want to?” 

I didn’t have an answer, at least not one I could explain to them. I’d heard stories from my schoolmates about having family, grandparents or aunts or people, and some of those people were horrid, but some of them were kind and took care of one. I thought it would be nice to meet someone who was nice to people who were related to him or her. 

I thought better of it later, because it seemed very likely that my parents’ parents might be just as bad as my parents were, or even worse. So not having had grandparents that we ever met might be a blessing in disguise. 

After Lily was born I tried to help care for her. I was concerned for her, since nobody else seemed to be particularly. Fortunately at that time we had another of the better class of student, one whom was horrified by the lack of attention paid to us, and she would come and try to bathe us or feed us and so on. My mother, being a feminist, insisted on breast-feeding Lily and presumably myself, although I blush to think of it, as she insisted in doing so during her lectures and classes, out in public, wherever it would be the most embarrassing, I think. 

I am told I was a fussy sickly baby which did nothing but cry, and I think this meant they paid even less attention to me. Lily was a good baby who cried much less and was adorable, and so they liked her better. I don’t think I was ever the subject of my mother’s art interpretations, but Lily was in several murals and sculptures, always in flattering or at least interesting ways. I was boring. 

Babies are rather filthy creatures, but they at least have the excuse of not being able to help themselves. And fortunately Millie the student took care of Lily as she had me. I sometimes wondered if I should wander about the house and find other stray babies that our mother had simply forgotten about or abandoned, who had learned not to cry because no one came for them. 

I hated that house. Most of all I hated the filth. Endless cigarettes and pipes ashed on everything, animals and their dirt, food left lying about to rot. And art, or so-called art. Not a wall in our home was not daubed or sprayed or glued with something supposedly artistic, nor the furniture. Her art was not to be touched or disturbed, even if she had not no much as noticed that project in years. The Muse, she said, might Strike at any time. I loathed and resented the Muse. I never knew what would be next – the front room entirely taken up with macramé string as if a giant spider with poor taste in colors had taken up residence, or the only working loo being unusable again because there was basketweaving being done in the bathtub. I was always exhorted to enjoy this, to watch Art being made, wasn’t I fortunate. I had no interest in watching my mother tie a hammock when I was hungry and cold and dirty, so I was told I was ungrateful. 

There was some debate about whether or not Lily and I should even be sent to school. I suspect that had it merely been Lily she would have been kept at home and supposedly educated, but I was a boring child, so I might as well be sent to school. School was a blessing and a curse all its own. School was clean and tidy and orderly, and being clean and tidy and orderly was rewarded there. I could not always be as clean as I wanted, as our parents did not do things like wash our clothes or even always remember to buy us things, and they did not think it mattered if my jumper had paint on it and my socks did not match. After kindergarten we were required to wear uniforms, which I rather liked. They were frumpy and cheap, but I could tell my parents I would be sent home if they were not kept nice, and hide them in my only bureau drawer so that cats would not piss on them or my mother use them for paint rags. It made me glad to have my two required neat uniforms and my schoolbag and my one bureau drawer that would not be violated. Especially after I put a lock on it and put the key on a string around my neck. 

But I was a child who lived in the mill houses, and I did not know how to do my hair or be fashionable, and my manners were untaught, and so I was teased a great deal. I was shy and uncomfortable around strangers. I did not like athletics very much, as I found it hard to breathe when running about, and I was not good at anything that made people want to befriend me. I had peculiar parents, we did not have television or music, and I knew nothing about the world that was not to do with radical university teachings. So I was not popular. I wanted very much to be ordinary, but no matter how I tried I was never quite right. I could not possibly have invited a friend over to my horrible house, so perhaps it was just as well I never really had any.

But school had books and things to study that were not philosophy and art, things with rules and functions and order. I quite liked the library; it was tidy and full of nice sensible books. The school library was not much, but we were taken on a school trip one day to the city library, and that was lovely. It was grubby and full of strangers, but there were books, and it was a place I could go if I took a bus or just a long walk. Not that my parents seemed to worry if I did not come home straightaway after school. 

I had a talent for maths. I was good in other subjects as well, at least where art was not concerned. Anything artistic I had ever tried to do had been dismissed, castigated, or laughed at by my parents, so I was terrified of the arts. I was briefly intrigued by music when I realized it had a lot to do with maths, but I would never have dared to perform any aloud. Nor did my parents believe in lessons. I was allowed to play a neighbor’s piano after school for a while; she taught me chords and let me read her music books and play the piano, and I helped the old woman tidy her house and get things down from shelves she could not reach in exchange, as my parents gave me no pocket-money so I could not pay. But that was later. 

I was good at spelling and maths, but my parents did not think much of that. Rote memorization, what use is that? I was quite proud the day I was sent home with a gold star for spelling, but my father threw it out after giving us all a lecture on the horrors of modern education, rote memorization, and so on. I was proud to be the first person in my class to learn her full times tables, but I did not even tell my parents, as I had learned my lesson by then. Lily thought I was quite clever for it, at least. I was even given a prize, a very small one, but it was the only such thing I had ever been given and so I thought it was wonderful. 

Lily grew into a fearless little girl who was always doing frightening and absurd things. She thought nothing of going into the backyard with the murderous dog twice her size, climbing up drainpipes and out windows, accosting the students, and so on. I would rescue her from something dangerous, and our parents would praise her courage, and belittle me for getting in the way of Lily’s “expansions”. How dare I set limits and not let Lily learn? Well, I did not want to have to take Lily to the emergency room on a bus by myself at night, since my parents would certainly not have bothered, we had only rarely a working automobile with gas in it, the telephone might or might not work to call an ambulance, and what else could I do? Lily was a survivor, fortunately; falls from the roof or sips of turpentine rarely harmed her seriously, to my relief. But I was in constant anxiety that she would find a new way to get into trouble and seriously hurt herself. I know now that magical persons are apparently quite resistant to ordinary hurt and illness, but at the time I was in a constant quake for Lily. I remember one day when our father was lecturing on the philosophical theories of child-rearing and education to a handful of students, all the while Lily was behind them, unnoticed, crawling up onto a coffee-table (well, a board set atop some crates) past burning ashtrays to grab a crust out of a pizza box. Somehow I do not think that either Plato or Aristotle would have approved. 

As we got older I took Lily out to the parks or a little playground nearby that was somewhat safe as long as it was daylight out, at least, not too favored by the sorts of people who leave glass and needles lying about. She was still entirely too fearless, jumping off swings and wandering into strange houses without a thought for her own safety. She giggled too loudly in the library, but the librarians thought she was charming, and they liked me well enough because I was careful of my books and always returned them on time. I took Lily on walks on the less coal-dusty side of town for our health, although Lily was stubbornly healthier than I was. Our parents liked Lily better, and thought she was creative and interesting and courageous and many things which I was not, but that did not mean they remembered to take care of her any better than they had me. Lily realized this, and she clung to me because I did take care of her. We were very close, even when she thought I was overprotective and I thought she was to drive me mad with her heedless adventuring. We were the only people who cared about each other at all, you see. 

I tried to keep our room clean, at least, and acquired another lock to keep strange male students and animals out at night, and tried to keep our clothes and things clean and tidy. I was laughed at for wanting bedsheets that had not been used as dropcloths, or for tidying and cleaning. But I really cannot bear filth and untidiness. It pains me. I would go to school early just to wash there in a clean sink, and I would wash my hands after each lesson. Lily thought this was madness and thought nothing of dirt. I told her she would be ill if she kept putting her dirty fingers in her nose and mouth, and she laughed at me. 

She became more independent as she got older. Sometimes she’d go off without me, to my horror. She’d befriend anyone she met. She learned to charm the students into doing things for her, and I taught her to use this to our advantage; if there was nothing to eat, for example, Lily would twirl her little red curls and smile and say she was hungry and wouldn’t some takeaway be nice? (We did not have a working stove much of the time, the icebox was unreliable, and cooking was simply not done. Pots and pans were for plaster and paint. We ate sandwiches and things in boxes or takeaway, or we did not eat.) I should not have encouraged her, as she later used this technique to hitch rides and do other reprehensible things, but at the time it seemed better than feeding her dry cereal for supper a third night in a row. 

And Lily did more peculiar things now as she got older. One of the dogs disappeared after it bit her, right off its rope. She’d jump out of the window and be unhurt. I begged her to stop, or not be seen doing such things. But she was reckless and heedless. I caught her smoking something a student had left in an ashtray. She laughed at me. 

I feel sometimes as if I spent my whole childhood being laughed at or belittled. It was quite horrible really. I swore that someday I would have a clean and proper house with a nice garden and everything tidy about it, and I would have little girls of my own, who I would raise properly to be good little girls, and they would have dolls and pretty dresses and never want for care or praise. I am not sorry to have had Dudley, but I did want to have girls as well, and I wish I might have had more children. But after that wretched child was dumped on our doorstep with no means of support Vernon declared that he would not have any more children, even his own, in our house. 

But I am getting ahead of myself. I was losing control of Lily. I could only follow along when she went on her adventures and pathetically beg her to be more careful – if she didn’t give me the slip entirely. I despaired for our future. I had hoped that I might be able to get a good job after comprehensive and I could pay for a home for both of us, perhaps send Lily to university, as she was quite clever when she could be bothered. But she did not study and did not want to, and grew very angry when I tried to make her do so. I did not know what would become of her if I could not make her more conformable. And she was befriending absolutely horrible people. Worst of all, she found this feral boy who lived down the spinner’s end of the mill housing, far worse off than we were, but this wretched creature knew something about magic and the mysterious things Lily had begun doing. He spun what I thought were fairy stories of magicians and witches, and Lily was entranced. I was afraid he would lead her into trouble, him and his filthy hair and ill-fitting clothes. But Lily was intractable, so all I could do was try to remain with her and keep her from running off too often. 

Then the hideous day came when I found a letter in the pile of mail in the hallway that was shoved through the mail slot. Nobody used the front door, you see, as it was broken, everyone entered through the kitchen. I would go through the mail and try to make my parents pay attention to the bills or important-looking mail from the university, and read or toss out the rest or use it to keep the furnace going in winter. But this was a letter unlike anything I’d seen before, and it was addressed to Lily. 

It was written on thick paper like artists use, in a fat envelope, addressed in green ink. I had at first assumed it was one of our father’s correspondents, but it was clearly addressed to Lily, who had never received anything before. I was terrified of the letter, and so I opened it, because nobody else ever took care of Lily, and I had to. 

It did not make sense at first, but I read it several times, with a stolen battery-torch in my bed that night. Lily assumed I was reading books or studying and ignored it. She did not know what horrors awaited her. 

The letter informed me that Lily had been requested – or indeed, compelled – to attend an institution for children who had the ability to use magic. Far too much of what the letter said rang true with the horrible stories the boy Severus had told us. I felt my heart would bound out of my chest. I could not let them take Lily away! 

In the end I saw only one solution. I wrote very carefully to the headmaster, begging him to allow me to attend the school as well, as I was effectively Lily’s only guardian. I assured him that I did quite well in school and would surely catch up with the magical curriculum, and that if Lily was eligible that I must be as well. Otherwise it would be too dreadful to send her off to an away school among strangers. How would she manage? 

I spent the next several days in a daze after posting my letter. I snapped at Lily. I cursed at the horrid boy and shouted him away when he tried to talk to us. I saw the same letter in his shirt, and I dared not let him tell Lily what it said. I did everything I could to distract Lily, I lied and said I was unwell and that I needed her. 

But that night, the worst happened. An enormous great owl banged on the window of our bedroom. I was terrified, but by then I had heard that owls deliver post to magical persons, so I cautiously opened the window and let the owl slide the letter in. It was the reply I’d been waiting for. I read it under the covers so as not to wake Lily. 

The letter informed me that I was in no way eligible for the institution as I could not make magic and would never be able to. It was an inborn ability, probably like art and creativity and courage and all the other things I lacked. And Lily would go to their school or the law would intervene to make sure she attended. 

I do not in general indulge in tears. There is very little point in crying if nobody is going to comfort you, and if you are going to be belittled for it you are better off not crying. And it makes my head ache and my chest wheeze. But I sobbed quietly to myself, because I could not help it. Strangers were coming to take my Lily away and I could not stop them, and I knew very well that Lily would not only go willingly but scoff at my fears. 

The next morning more of the letters arrived, this time mysteriously appearing on Lily’s bed and our father’s desk. Their only kindness was that they did not mention what I had done. But I was not saved, because Lily promptly realized that her letter greatly resembled the one I’d been poring over all last week, and demanded to know if I was going with her. I was not. Then why did I have a letter, she demanded, and the truth came out. Lily was furious. A ten-year-old termagant screeched me down from the housetop for daring to read her letter, for interfering in her life, for being a busybody, for everything and anything. I could only sob. 

A week later a strange woman came by and took Lily away to be fitted for a uniform. Our mother declined to accompany them. Lily came back with a trunk full of new things – I do not know how they were paid for, or how her school fees were paid – and things that made no sense, like a cauldron and some horrid things in jars. Lily had a wand now, a magic wand, it looked just like a wretched stick but when she flourished it, stars came out. The first time I saw her do it, I felt my heart break, because it was real, all of it was real, it was my nightmare come true and Lily was lost to me. 

As it came time for her to leave, Lily began to cling to me again. She swore she would write to me every day. She would miss me terribly. Who would braid her hair? How would she manage without her big sister? I could not answer. I tried to read some of her schoolbooks, but they made very little sense. There had been another letter and some pamphlets for our parents, who had largely ignored them, talking about how this fantastical magic world existed hidden within our own, and that Lily was very special to be allowed entry. Our parents grasped the special part, and lauded Lily greatly, and belittled me for failing to be interesting enough to be sent to a school. I did not mention that I had won another maths prize, for there was no point. I would not have been sent away to school even if somehow I had gotten entry to one, because there was no money for fees. 

Lily came home for the holidays like any boarding-school girl might, and already I knew she was changing. I envied her and began to hate her for it. She had never done anything in her life but get into trouble, and for that she was sent away to a school where she had her own good bed, clean baths, three good meals a day, and a library the size of the mill! And what had all my hard work gotten me? My parents had largely ignored me while Lily was away, and after the holidays it was nothing but Lily this, Lily that, why aren’t you as clever and interesting as Lily is. Lily had a frog in her pocket! I loathe frogs, and she knew it, and still there was a frog in our bedroom hopping on my things! When I complained, she laughed. She told me to move the frog if it bothered me. I could not bear the thought of touching it, but having it on my bed was worse. I scrubbed my hands raw afterwards. Lily told me I was ridiculous and stupid. She grew superior. She wasn’t meant to do magic at home, but somehow little things always seemed to happen. The summers were worse. I said she would have to get her own room if she was going to make cauldron messes and have frogs, and she somehow moved all her things into one of the spare rooms that had had one of Mother’s more abortive sculptures in it all overnight. She shouldn’t have been able to move that awful old bed, but she did. Things came out of nowhere, not all of them pleasant. She flirted with the students. I chastised her and got a teacup full of something horrid for it. But if anything went wrong and she couldn’t fix it, it was running back to me begging Tuney to fix everything. 

I decided I wanted nothing to do with her or the horrible magical world, or with my parents, ever again, as soon as I could manage it. I spent more of my time at the library rather than in that wretched house, since I no longer had to protect Lily from it. I studied very hard. I told my teachers that I wanted to get good O-levels, that if I could get a scholarship somewhere I would be grateful, my parents were not helping me at all and I desperately wanted schooling and a good job. I found a sympathetic woman in my science teacher, and she helped me find some scholarships to apply for. More than anything I wanted to go anywhere other than the comprehensive university where my parents taught, the bottom of the barrel liberal arts school full of hippie communist idiots. 

Lily and I would try to be friends again at the holidays, but it was too much. We had grown too far apart, and we did nothing but argue. I despaired of her. She despised me. The holidays were wretched. We did not celebrate Christmas, of course, as my parents were atheists and believed that such stuff was primitive and useless, and mocked it whenever they encountered any of it. It was probably just as well, as a message of love and peace and caring for one’s family would have been lost on them in any case. There would not have been a nice supper or presents, as we never had such things. And of course there were no vacations, unless it was only my parents who went on holiday and left us at home. So the winter and Easter holidays were no different than our lives ever were, so Lily and I did not suffer that at least, even when she went away to school. The holidays were no worse than summertime.

Then at last the sun shone on me a little. I got accepted to a work-study program that would allow me to attend university, and my work would pay for my fees and books and lodging. It was not the finest university, but it was perfectly good. I did excellently on my O-levels, especially in maths. I took A levels in Business Studies, Accounting and Advanced Maths, because if I could not get a scholarship to university I must go to work, and would need career A-levels. And I am very good at accounts and maths. With numbers, everything is orderly and tidy and if it isn’t, you must make it that way. 

Lily was dating boys and sneaking off to London and being horrible. I had a job in a shop and was studying very hard and saving all my pay. I was determined to get into university and have excellent A-levels and get out of that house. 

I asked Lily about her future once. Did she have a career? What did witches and wizards do for money? She said she knew all the right people and was good at making potions, whatever that meant, and that she would have a job or an internship waiting for her if she did the wizarding A-levels. But lots of witches got along just fine as housewives. I said she would be not much of a housewife, and she said I was being cruel, and anyway, she would never be one, because she was going to have a career and travel and do very interesting things, unlike me and my accounts and my job at a nothing little shop. I thought she was dreaming as usual, but then she showed me her O-level grades and I felt envious again, because she had several and had done very well, even if her subjects were ridiculous. And she got to be a prefect, which surprised me as she was such a troublemaker. Either she didn’t get caught at school or they hired thieves to catch thieves. Or perhaps by the standard of her horrible school she really was well-behaved and the whole place was a madhouse run riot. I no longer cared. I would never have to have anything to do with it again when I left home. 

I was accepted to a London university. London! Lily was envious and threatened to come visit me. I told her she might if she behaved herself, but if she was only coming to visit me to go out and get in trouble I wanted nothing to do with it, and she was angry at me. I didn’t care. I was in horrid student housing, but it was still nicer than being with my parents. I spent the first week in that place cleaning everything from top to bottom, it felt so good to have everything clean for once. My housemates didn’t like me being a fussbudget about keeping things clean and said I was a harridan, and I said they were slobs, and we avoided each other as best we could, and at least they weren’t artists. Or philosophers. And no smoking was allowed in the rooms. I started to feel as if I could breathe at last. I cleaned the bathroom each morning and the kitchen each night. I could actually cook and eat in the kitchen without feeling ill. I didn’t have to bathe twice a day just to feel clean after being in that house. But I could, if I wanted to. 

I got a part-time job with a local business learning accounts work from an older woman who was retiring. She was a bit dotty in her old age, and I caught mistakes she missed in the accounts. I got a nice letter from the manager for that. I was so happy. I bought new clothes that had never been dirty and never would be, I bought fancy soaps for myself, I got a fashionable haircut. I was studying economics and maths and business in school, I was working at a proper office where I was respected for what I did, and it was lovely. 

And then it got difficult again. I should have known it was too good to last. The accounts mistakes I’d found meant the firm had less money, and so they let me go because they couldn’t pay. I really resented that. Without my job, I couldn’t keep paying my school fees. I had to find full-time work as fast as possible. I got a recommendation letter from one of my teachers and started going around to firms looking for work. I worked as a temp for a while, which was always horrid and made me terribly insecure. 

A friend from school put me on to an opening at Gunnings, and I took the train out there to interview. I was nervous, very nervous, and so when the interviewer was late to see me I became quite fretful. He took me around to the accounts department, and the senior accounts man looked down his nose at me for not having finished school, and clearly I was a dull stupid inferior girl and quite laughable, really. Just like our parents. I became furious and snatched his books away from him and promptly spotted an error, pointing it out to him and saying that I hadn’t needed to go to Cambridge to add two and three and was this the sort of standard the firm was held to. I’m afraid I was rather strident. I hadn’t eaten that day because I was trying to save money, and I think that made me lose my temper. 

Well, a Mr Dursley happened to be coming by the accounts department and saw the whole thing. I didn’t know who he was then of course. He demanded to know what was going on, shouted them all down, and stabbed a great finger at the books demanding to be told what the error was and where. The accounts manager tried to say there was no such thing and the hysterical young lady should be taken away, clearly she was unhinged and foolish and stupid. But I had had enough. No more would Petunia Evans be pushed around and belittled, and absolutely not in maths! In maths I can prove that I am right. And so I took a shaky breath and I held my ground and said there was an error, right there, anyone could see it, at least anyone who could add two and three properly. Mr Dursley followed my explanation and was incensed. He went into a great roaring cannonade, and dragged all of us and the books into the senior director’s office right away. I felt as if a tidal wave had overswept me. After another hour or two of shouting and re-calculating the ledgers with pencils and an adding machine the senior director agreed that there was an error, and a rather serious one. In the end of it all, the senior accounts man was given notice, I was hired to his department (not to replace him of course, but it was made clear that I was the cause of his demise and highly thought of by management), and Mr Dursley asked if he might take me to supper. I thought it was all quite wonderful and vindicating. I was right! And instead of being let go for it, I was given a position! And the directors had taken note of me! 

I was finally free. I had my position at a real and proper firm, even if I hadn’t finished school, and I had a little flat with another woman who worked in the sales department at Gunnings, and who went out a great deal with men or to visit her many relations, and did not bother me or make messes. I kept it very tidy, I was able to put money into savings for the first time, and I glowed in being thought well of at the firm. I sent my parents a postcard to which I did not expect any reply in the least, and let Lily know where I was to be found if she wished to visit with me. 

Lily did come to visit me at Christmas in my new tiny flat. She tried to take me shopping, in some awful old street behind a pub somewhere in Camden. It was magical shops, and perhaps I wasn’t meant to be there, and people certainly stared at me. I was dressed perfectly respectably, but wizards have very odd notions of dress. I did not like it very much and could not spend pounds there anyway, and Lily sighed but did not tease me for once. We had a lunch at a wretched little pub and tried to remember how to talk to one another. She thought my job and lifestyle to be very dull indeed, and I said I was happy that way and thanked her not to criticize. I think we both knew that we had nothing in common any more, but the bonds of our childhood were still strong in our hearts. 

Vernon began to take me to dinner quite regularly. I was very concerned about what I would have to tell him about Lily someday if things continued, but I was happy. Vernon was nicer than the students I had tried to go on dates with, I found him very steady and comforting, and we agreed on so many things, from politics to gardening. I thought we were well-matched, if not for my wretched family. 

Next time Lily came to visit, she was nervous. She tried to tell me that some sort of civil war was going on. I told her I wasn’t interested in wizard politics and that I was seeing a very nice man, and I expected to be engaged shortly. I had begged Vernon not to speak to my parents as they were quite horrid, but he had engaged to take me to visit his parents and sister for their approval, which we all know is very important. Lily promptly trumped me with the news that she was probably eloping, so there wouldn’t be a fussy wedding, and anyway she knew I would not invite her to my wedding as she wouldn’t be wanted. That made me cry, as I did want her there if she would behave herself. I made her stay for supper, and a very awkward conversation with Vernon happened in which poor Vernon refused to believe any of her nonsense and Lily turned his hat into a hedgehog. I felt absolutely dreadful, and I was sure he would never speak to me again. Fortunately he did, and I think that my own distaste for the whole thing made him understand that I could not choose my family and that everyone must be saddled with some unfortunates (as he said about his great-uncle who was a Communist). I had far rather one Communist than a pack of hippie professors and magicians, but I was too grateful for Vernon’s forgiveness to care. I swore I would keep Lily and her magic world as far away from ours as was humanly possible, and out of our house and lives, which seemed to mollify him considerably. 

And he did take me to visit his family, and it might have been very awkward, as his mother fell and broke her wrist the very day before we were to arrive. But it turned out for the best, because Vernon said I would take care of the house and supper and everything just as she wished, and while her cookery instructions were rather fiddly the roast came out all right, and then I begged to be allowed to do all the washing-up so she and Vernon and his father could have a chat, and I cleaned the kitchen really quite thoroughly, and she told Vernon that she was very impressed at what a good job I’d done, and thought I might make him a good wife. The next day we went shopping and I did all the fetching and carrying for her and found several coupons for the groceries, and they do approve of saving money in that family. I begged her to give me as many of Vernon’s favorite recipes as she would spare to me, which endeared me to them both. We played a few hands of bridge that evening, which Vernon had taught to me, and his father was partner with me and was impressed at how quickly I did the totting-up and scorekeeping, as well as with my play. Vernon is always proud of my accounting, and said so. I told them a little about my family when they asked, which was awkward of course, but I assured them that I had cut nearly all ties and wanted nothing to do with such people ever again. And his parents decided they approved of me and would welcome me into the family, which was very kind of them. 

In the end, I had a very pretty wedding, and Lily and her fiancé (I didn’t see a ring, but she said they were engaged) were tolerably well behaved. I had my old flatmate from Sales as my maid of honour and Vernon’s sister as maid, and Lily said she would rather not be a bridesmaid, so it was just as well. I wanted pink gowns and her hair would have clashed. It was a lovely ceremony and not too big a reception. My parents only arrived for the reception, having forgotten the day, and were almost as mortifying as Lily’s boyfriend, who had his trousers on backwards. But many people from the firm were there, including the senior director, and it was good for Gunnings’ business, as well as being perfectly lovely. And Lily did elope, or said she eloped, so I did not have to go to a wizard wedding after all. But I would have gone, because she is my sister. 

Vernon and I picked out a house in a nice development not too far from the firm’s main office, with all new kitchen and baths, and I began planting a lovely garden almost immediately before we had even unpacked. I have always wanted to garden, but I had never been able to do more than keep a window-box in my flat, and I reveled in our shining new house and garden. Oh, it was glorious! We chose elegant furnishings and I kept everything spic and span, not a mote of coal dust in sight! And I could have a proper garden at last. I planted rosebushes and flowerbeds, and Vernon rolled the lawn on the weekend and wiped down his automobile, and it was perfect. Everything was just how we wanted it. I was still working part-time at the firm in accounts, but we hoped to be having children soon, and I did conceive and left the firm. Vernon had gotten a promotion, so we did not need my salary. I thought about going back to work after the children were in school, just to keep my hand in, but Vernon said he did not want people to think his wife had to work and perhaps I could take up a hobby or do charity work. Well, I am sure charities need people to do their accounts, so that sounded just lovely. 

Lily wrote that she was going to have a baby. I was a little glad that for once I had beaten her at something, as she was due two months after me. She came to visit once or twice after Dudley was born, thankfully without James, and while Vernon was at work. While we still disagreed on most everything, we could talk about pregnancy and babies and agreed that neither of us would be the neglectful uncaring mothers that ours had been. We talked awkwardly about the importance of family, and that we both hoped to find some way, despite our many differences, to raise our children together. 

I was so happy with Dudley! I had hoped for a girl, but Vernon was so glad to have a male heir I could not complain, and Diddy was an angel. Only a little fussy, and perhaps I cosseted him too much, but surely it is far better to love a child too much than not enough? He was an enormous baby, very healthy, and I am always proud of him. He’s never given me a moment’s worry, and now he’s going to be a soldier, and that does worry me of course but I am very proud of him. And soldiers are orderly and tidy people, so it makes me glad to know he’ll be in a good environment, and hopefully we shall not have any wars and he shall simply do his duty and the sorts of things soldiers do in peacetime, like help out with disaster rescues. 

I remember getting a letter from Lily that summer. Poor Diddums had prickly heat and I was having a difficult time soothing him, and I wanted to go out into the garden and admire the roses but Diddy was fussy about the sunshine. So I read the letter indoors, and it said Lily had delivered her baby, smaller than mine, but a boy, and they’d named it Harry James, after his father and grandfather. I was surprised they’d given him such a respectable name; so many witches and wizards seem to have absolutely ridiculous names. Not that Petunia is the best name, of course, but it is not my fault. I always wished to be called Mary, but it was not to be. I stuck the letter in my desk and mentioned it to Vernon over supper, I’d made a lovely garden salad and pork chops for us with new peas from our own garden. I delighted in learning to cook properly on a proper stove, and fortunately Vernon was forgiving when I made mistakes. 

But our bliss was not to continue. That autumn Lily came to visit, without warning, and seemed half deranged. She asked me if I would shelter her baby in an emergency. I thought she’d gone mad. She said she was in danger, that her husband was in danger, that some mysterious enemies would kill her baby and everyone she knew. I didn’t know what to say. She was white and terrified, she wouldn’t sit down and drink tea but paced all over my kitchen in a fretful panic. She tried to explain that there was some sort of wizard civil war going on and that they really might be killed in their beds. In the end I promised that if anything happened to her I would take the baby in, not really thinking that anything would come of it. 

But then in a month there was a wretched night and a baby on our doorstep! Just like that, a baby, on our doorstep! I am not at all sure how it arrived there, in fact. Nobody bothered to come in and inform us of how things were, or bring the baby’s things around; there was a letter in Harry’s blanket and that was that. The very idea! I was so incensed at first that I truly did not understand that Lily was dead. And now I had two babies on our hands, which we had decidedly not planned and saved up for, and Diddy’s school fund had to go on more bottles and things, because even with Diddy’s hand-me-downs we had to buy some new, which was quite provoking. And I defy anyone to cope well with a baby of fifteen months being added suddenly to what had been an orderly household! I had no time to think of grief, I had Lily’s wretched child on my hands, and I resented it because I wanted to be spending my time with my own boy and my roses. Diddy was almost eighteen months and had just a few words and was learning to throw a ball – I had wanted to show Vernon that his little man could throw a ball and mostly catch it that night after supper, but no, we have an interloper that needs to be fed and diapered! Harry didn’t speak at all, even though Lily’s last had assured me he could say a few words, and he’d had a head injury besides. Diddy was quite naturally put out at the sudden arrival of someone else who took his Mama’s attentions away from him, and he began having temper tantrums, shouting ‘no’ a lot again, and carrying on a great deal. I was beside myself trying to care for both of them.

A few weeks later I received another letter inviting me to her funeral. A man Lily had introduced me to in the pub said he would take me and the baby. I did not want to go, but I felt obliged to for the baby’s sake. I did not tell Vernon, as he would have been upset. I put Harry in the pram and let Diddy walk with me and hold my hand. An elderly gentleman with a long beard arrived in a car, and he and his driver took us away. He was Mr Dumbledore, apparently a person of some importance in the wizarding world, and he tried to explain that the war was over and that things would be safe now, and that wretched little Harry was somehow getting credit for this. He poked at Harry and asked me how he was, all but ignoring my little angel. 

Thankfully the funeral was not too peculiar. I wore a black day dress and hat, and was not stared at overmuch. The babies cried, poor things, it was cold. James and Lily were both laid to rest in a fairly respectable fashion, with one headstone, and I did cry. I had brought some Christmas lilies to leave on the grave. It was really only just beginning to sink in that I had lost my only sister for good. I think I thought that surely she had gone off on some mad escapade again, leaving me to care for her baby in just the sort of way that she would, and that she would come back with a ridiculous tale to tell and disorder my life again. But Lily was really gone from my life and would not come back. She was under the ground and her life was over, and I didn’t know what to do. 

The car’s driver shielded me from the various strangers as I left my flowers. Mr Dumbledore said he had to stay, but that the driver might take me home now if I wished. He would, however, come to see me again, or at least send a letter. I was glad to go; it was quite cold and Diddy was fussing, and I did not want to talk to all those strangers. I was trying not to cry. I felt unwell. 

I went home safely, changed the babies and put them down for their nap, and cleaned the entire house instead of sitting down for my tea like I often do. It comforts me to know that everything is clean and tidy. But Harry started crying, and he woke Dudley, and so just when I was thinking I could rest I was back on baby duty. I don’t understand why two babies at once is so much more difficult than one, or perhaps my little angel had spoiled me and any other baby was a trial to me. 

Vernon greatly resented having Harry thrust upon us. Dumbledore came around later that week and spoke to him. Without phoning first or writing of course; I brought out the tea things, trying to be a bit less ramshackle, but wizards seem to be terribly rude that way and never call ahead or write or anything. Vernon asked if Lily and James had left any funds that we might use to care for the boy. No, there was no money; we would have to raise Harry on what we’d set aside for the future. It was typical of Lily’s mismanagement and thoughtlessness. I did the numbers in my head and saw all our plans, our vacations, our new car, delayed or destroyed, and couldn’t help a sob; it wasn’t fair, least of all to Vernon. And Mr Dumbledore seemed to think we were wretches for not welcoming the boy with open arms! How could we? 

But I had promised Lily. And there was some magic involved whereby if the boy stayed with blood family he would be safe. Vernon demanded to know why he couldn’t go to his father’s family, and apparently there were none of those to be had. Very ramshackle. Vernon insisted that we need have no further contact with the wizards, and Dumbledore said he would send letters only if necessary, and that the boy would likely be sent to school as Lily had. I cringed at the thought of having to go through all the terror of raising a magical child, and swore I would drive it out of him. Surely a proper upbringing would keep that from happening. I would not do that to my Vernon or my baby. The last thing any of us wanted was a wizard in the family. 

I did not want Harry in the family, I admit that. Even as a baby, he reminded me whenever I saw him that there was this great mark on his head, he was probably deranged by it, I would have an idiot on my hands. And every time I saw it I remembered that Lily was taken from me and I would become very upset. In later years it was just a little pain in my chest over my heart, but in those days it felt very hard indeed, as if I could not breathe and my heart would never beat again. I tried to let his hair grow over the mark, comb it down, but it was terrible curly hair like his father’s and would never behave, so I must always be looking at this dreadful reminder. And his baby eyes only darkened to Lily’s green, and that also would remind me of her, and it hurt me to think of it.

But of course the wretched boy went magical, and had to be sent off to that horrid school, but we still had to house him over the holidays lest he be unsafe or some such, and there was still no money for his board and upkeep. I refused to neglect Dudley in any way, but if Harry claims he was poorly treated, he is simply envious. Of course I treated my own son better than the interloper! I assure you Harry had a far better childhood than Lily or I did. Not that he applied himself in the least. He shirked his chores – even knowing that someone had to pay for his houseroom – did poorly in school, and was unkind to Dudley. He was messy and dirty and insolent to Vernon and all of us, and got into as much or more trouble than Lily ever did. Ungrateful, that’s what he is. A snake in our bosom, in our little garden of Eden. 

But I took him on, for Lily’s sake, because I did love my sister, despite everything. And look what it’s got us.

**Author's Note:**

> Having OCD myself, I felt a great deal of sympathy for Petunia Dursley's desperate desire to keep things tidy. I felt she deserved a little better, or at least a little more of a story.


End file.
